


Behold the Magnetism Between Two Dead Ends

by theshipsfirstmate



Series: Things Happen [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, a little angsty, a little boozy, post-crossover, two canaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:03:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5391986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshipsfirstmate/pseuds/theshipsfirstmate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>post-crossover, Cisco drowns his sorrows in tequila and meets Sara Lance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behold the Magnetism Between Two Dead Ends

_Title from “Things Happen” by Dawes._

**Behold the Magnetism Between Two Dead Ends**

He’s on his fifth or sixth round when things start to a go a little fuzzy. It’s for the best, he needs for a few things to be fuzzy right now. After all, it’s not everyday your girlfriend flies away with the “soulmate” who’s gotten her killed 206 times.

“Maybe it’s 207, now,” he mumbles aloud, realizing he forgot to follow up with Barry about what exactly happened when he time-traveled.

He’s halfway done with the drink in his hand when the bartender starts making his way to his end of the bar. The guy’s got a look of enthusiasm that doesn’t suit his usually-sour hipster face and Cisco thinks he’s about to either get kicked to the curb or be awarded with some kind of frequent drinkers’ club card.

“Sara!” The guy brushes right past Cisco to a blonde on his left. The place isn’t empty, but this isn’t a spot that ever gets to standing room, so he’s surprised he didn’t even notice her slip in. She’s leaning against the bar, and his double take is probably less than subtle, but she doesn’t notice, as the bartender continues. “It’s so good to see you!”

 _Sara_. Sara  _Lance_.

“Who’s asking?”

He said it out loud. When he glances up from his drink, the blonde’s looking at him and the bartender’s looking at his glass, both of them with eyebrows raised.

“Sorry,” he covers quickly, dropping his gaze from the woman’s for one second before looking back up, just real quick, because yeah, she’s definitely a Lance. “I uh, I know your sister.”

He whips his phone out to disappear into before they get a chance to scrutinize him further, and the blonde turns back to the bartender with a little shake of the head. Cisco plays Trivia Crack while the two catch up, slurping his drink through the stirring straw. When the guy gets summoned to the other end of the bar, however, she turns back to him with an amused look, like she’s waiting for him to say something.

“So, you’re Laurel’s…little sister?” He puts a few puzzle pieces together in his mind, though they’re soggy with tequila. “Damn, those are some good genes.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said good jeans,” he repeats, louder, when what he should be doing is facepalming. “On ya, and in ya. I’m six drinks in, Canary, they’re not all gonna be winners.”

The name raises her eyebrows, maybe it’s not the only thing, but like he said, six drinks.

“So, you know my sister?” She’s sizing him up, women always do. He’s known he wasn’t going to be one of “those guys” since the sixth grade. Girls look at him like he’s a plaque, not a trophy. They don’t marvel, they just kind of, squint their eyes and try to read him.

“Yep.” He slurps the last of his tequila and motions for another, trying for…mystery, maybe? Calm, cool, and collected? (He is none of those things right now.) Who knows. Maybe he’s just sick of having women whip his heart around and then take off on a train or a motorcycle or, you know,  _wings_.

“ _How_  do you know my sister?”  _There’s_  the real question. Sara’s demeanor, though, has dropped from her earlier teasing tone, and her suddenly steely gaze sobers him, sticks him to the simplest answer.

“I made the Canary Cry,” he tells her, a little haughty because it’s still one of his favorite inventions. Of course it is.

“You did?” Her expression changes immediately. She’s impressed, that means she’s seen it in action. “You’re Cisco.”

And  _damn_ , but that make his chest burn in a way that’s totally different from the liquor. It’s a little twisted, how he’s sitting here, pining for Kendra and still letting his heart thud at the knowledge that Laurel told her sister about him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, suddenly contrite when he realizes he can’t quite remember the impression he’s made so far. He’s not sure it’s a good one, the look on Sara’s face pretty much confirms that hunch. “I’m usually…better. I’m not usually drunk.”

“That’s good.” A little smile. Maybe he’s not totally down the tank. “No one should _usually_  be drunk.”

“I’m drinking away my sorrows, grammar police,” he tells her, raising his newly-replenished glass. The honesty’s just kind of happening, at this point. “And most of my paycheck, because I have lost some girls in pretty fantastic ways, but this one deserves a high-end celebration.”

“Buy your next round?” Sara asks and he snorts in disbelief. “I used to be a bartender, that’s basically just a therapist that works nights.”

“Really?” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m pretty sure I said something offensive about your ass, like, three minutes ago.”

“Yeah, well, these  _are_  good jeans.” She grins and again, definitely Laurel’s sister. “Honestly, it’s a little bit of a relief to have a semi-normal conversation with someone who knows. I’m kind of…easing back into things at the moment.”

“Right.” He remembers Barry telling him the bare bones via Felicity and realizes he might have found the one person in the whole world to whom his Kendra story might sound kind of petty. But she still looks interested.

“So?” Ah, fuck it.

“So, I was seeing this girl. It was going well, like,  _really_  well, and then…” It might sound petty, but at least she’ll believe him. Probably. “ _Then_ , this super buff guy shows up out of nowhere, tells her they’re soulmates, and she uh…sprouted wings and flew off with him.”

There’s a moment when Sara’s eyes go wide, and then she laughs out loud, looking something like surprised at how loud it is. It’s kind of endearing. “Jesus Christ, seriously?”

“Seriously.” He scoffs into his drink and it might be the first time he’s actually smiled since Hawk Douche showed up. Damn the Lance family.

“Wow, I was dead for a whole year, and that’s still pretty brutal.” She’s still smiling though, and he feels like that might be an accomplishment in itself. He knows it’s not easy, as someone who’s died once himself.

“What’s brutal?” Suddenly, there’s a familiar voice to his right and he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, giving himself a moment to try and figure out if he’s the luckiest or unluckiest guy in the whole world.

“ _Laurel_?” Wait, she shouldn’t be in this place for like, ten different reasons. “What are you doing here?”

“Cisco, are you not happy to see me?” She plays at offense, and he tries not to find it adorable, while Sara echoes behind him. “Rude, bro.” The Lance sisters teasing him in stereo. It’d be a lot to handle sober, and he’s definitely  _not_  sober.

“I stayed an extra night,” Laurel says, by way of explanation, but he’s too busy trying to get his eyes to focus on her face. She’s close, and she smells, just, unfortunately good. “I’m getting dinner with Sara and driving back in the morning.”

“Two canaries,” he slurs, eyes darting back and forth. “That’s almost a flock.”

“Please tell me you’re not driving.” Laurel Lance, always trying to save the world.

“Well, Barry’s with Patty,” he sighs, pouting with his chin on his fist. “Caitlin and Jay are probably still nerding out and  _not_  kissing each other, and I would rather back my own car over myself than hit up bobo Harrison Wells.”

“C’mon, I’ll take you home,” Laurel offers, looping an arm around his, and he only just stops himself from letting his head loll all the way to her shoulder when he turns to look at her.

She’s looking at Sara, asking her to wait a few minutes, and he definitely doesn’t take a moment to stare at the corner of her mouth while she’s distracted. Then, she’s pulling him to his feet, and all of his focus goes towards balance. “You don’t have the motorcycle, do you?”

“It was nice to meet you, Cisco,” Sara calls after him and he’s pretty sure he turns in time to see her shoot an eyebrow in Laurel’s direction. To be fair, his vision is pretty blurry.

“Sara Lance, it was an honor.” It might end up low on the list, but he’s certain he’ll kick himself for tomorrow for bowing. It makes Laurel smile at him though, and he can see that clear as day, so it’s maybe not the worst thing he’s done all night. It’s that smile, and yes, tequila, that makes him sling an arm over her shoulder. When she doesn’t pull away, he lets his palm drop flat against her arm, ignoring the static spark that zings up his arm at the feel of her skin against his.

“Alright, buddy, let’s get you out of here.” Buddy. Ugh. Her laugh sounds nervous somehow, but he can’t quite piece that together right now.

Suddenly emboldened, probably for the wrong reasons, he turns back. “Hey Sara, your sister looks pretty good in black, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, she does,” The younger Lance agrees, and they’re both still smiling at him, so he goes for it.

“Maybe – and this is just a crazy suggestion – but maybe you try a different color this time around?”

Sara’s eyes go round, and more vulnerable than he ever thought he’d see, laced with disbelief. It’s like she was planning on a life of normalcy, like she thought she’d be content to sit on the sidelines now. It’s not what he expected.

“Yeah.” When Sara answers, her voice is soft and only a little meek. “Maybe.”

He turns back to Laurel and she’s got a look on her face he’s never seen before. It’s impressed, but it’s something more than that too, he’s almost too close to see it. She’s  _marveling_. Arm still around her, he lets her lead him to the parking lot, feeling significantly less shitty than when he walked in.

“You’re quite a guy, Cisco,” she tells him, steering him around to the right side of the car.

“Got a thing for birds,” he slurs, pouring himself into the passenger seat. “Hawks, canaries…just, pretty birds…”

Laurel doesn’t say anything to that, and it feels like she’s focusing really hard on backing out of the parking space all of a sudden. He fills the silence with the next thought that crops up. “Soulmates,” he scoffs. “You believe that shit?”

“I used to,” she answers softly. “Then I didn’t for a long time.”

“And now?”

“Now I don’t know,” she sighs. “Hard not to, sometimes.”

Oliver and Felicity  _are_  kind of disgustingly perfect, he thinks. Even if Caitlin and Jay have swooped in to take their “dancing around it” crown, it’s easy to see that the Green Arrow and his tech genius are pretty much meant to be. “That can’t be easy.”

He’s thankful when she seems to follow his sloppy logic. “It was harder before,” she answers, vaguely, though it still means something. Something he’s almost able to parse together. “He’s someone else now.”

“And who are you?”

The car stops suddenly, and he wonders if the question was too much, until he looks out the window and sees his apartment building. This time, she doesn’t come around to his side and offer him her arm.

“I’m the Black Canary,” she answers the question in a obvious but hushed voice as they make their way to his front door and into the elevator.

“No, I mean,” he pauses. “Who are  _you_ , Laurel Lance?”

Her eyes go wide and he looks at her then, knowing there’s no Earth on which he’s supposed to think she’s this beautiful, no version of the two of them that are “destined” to be together. If they die tonight, they’re not going to find their way back to each other. Maybe that’s what makes him do it.

“I don’t…” Her voice breaks as she stumbles over the words, and he doesn’t let her finish the uncertain thought, crashing his lips against hers. He swallows her gasp of surprise and waits a split-second, but then she’s cupping his face, letting him press her up against the elevator wall, tangling her tongue with his in an inelegant clash.

It’s different than kissing Kendra, like the sun and the moon, and if he were slightly more sober, he’d realize that the comparison is the least of his problems. But she’s kissing him, and it feels like magic, which exists now in their world, apparently. She kissing him, even though he tastes like tequila, and there’s something surreal about that, too.

When the elevator dings at his floor, though, the spell is broken. Her hands slide to his chest and she’s pushing him away like she should have done from the start. “Cisco, stop,” she says, even though she sounds less than certain, even though she won’t meet his eyes. “I don’t think you want to do this.”

“Yeah, but I don’t get to have what I want.” The words are unconscious and bitter and the hurt that flashes across her face makes him wish he could swallow them back down immediately. She bolts from the elevator and he’s left to follow, cursing himself in every language he knows and maybe a few he’s making up.

“ _Jesus_ , Laurel.” Somehow she knows where she’s going. “I’m so sorry.”

She just squares her shoulders and turns back to face him, leaning against the wall as he fumbles with the keys to his apartment. “Listen, if anybody knows about having a bad night, it’s me.”

“That’s no excuse, Laurel, I’m sorry,” he says again, then feels the need to clarify. Selfishly, he’s not sorry for kissing her. “It just…it’s not how I meant it.”

“Get some sleep, Cisco.” Her smiles are always a little sad, but this one’s trending down and it pierces his chest a little. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

When he passes out on his couch, just barely conscious of his front door shutting a little too loud, he’s worried everything is ruined.

When he wakes up too late the next morning to a glass of water and aspirin on the coffee table, a still-warm papas breakfast burrito from Villa Corona on his kitchen counter, and an almost imperceptible smudge of red on his cheek, he’s not so sure.


End file.
